Chapter Text
Being Spider-man is both everything and nothing that Miles had expected. When he dons the suit, always by Peter’s side, his guidance lighting the way, Miles feels like he can take the world, ready for anything. He wonders if it’s because he’s seventeen, still very much a teenager yet fresh into manhood, uncertain yet unerringly overconfident.
Or maybe it’s because of Peter, who’s a steady presence, supportive and kind—almost too kind for his own good—consistent in making Miles feel like there’s nothing that can get him down.
Either way, it didn’t take too long for Miles to realize—after Peter has gone to Symkaria and left New York in Miles’ hands—that he doesn’t have the faintest clue in what he’s doing.
Everything is suddenly too much, too fast, and at every turn, Miles only gets more and more overwhelmed, suffocated and pressured under all the unseen weight suddenly dumped on him.
He should have known that he wasn’t ready when Peter said he was leaving New York. He should have asked the man to stay a little longer, especially after Miles had screwed up everything with Rhino and—oh wow, not to mention his new powers too.
But he didn’t say a thing, just let the man leave and didn’t ask for anything else.
When Phin waltzed right back into his life, everything turned on its head because, for one, all sorts of emotions he forgot he had resurfaced and Phin being Phin didn’t help either. She is more aloof, quiet, reserved. Though she still dunks of him like she’s always loved to do, her words don’t hold the same bite, her eyes tell him the lack of heart in her jokes.
And Miles really was going to talk to her, tell her everything that’s been happening, and possibly work up to telling her his spider problem. Though, Peter’s voice echoes in his head every time the thought crosses his head, telling him not to tell a single soul.
Then, Miles came in between Roxxon and the Underground and things—things got a little complicated after that.
Miles understands. He really does. At first, he was angry, betrayed because why didn’t Phin trust him with a secret like this? But then he learns what happened, why Phin was angry—so, so angry. Rick was another person Miles can’t measure up to, and he understands.
Miles should have known that lying and scheming was the last thing Phin needed, but at the time he thought it was the only way to get to her. It seemed easy; the plan laid out perfectly by his uncle.
It shouldn’t have surprised Miles that it blew up in his face.
He could see that piercing betrayal, the same sharp pain he felt when he found out who exactly was the Tinkerer, flash across her face, before fury swamps it all out. And Miles loses her.
The next few days are a blur of punches that don’t hit hard enough, bruises that stay and promises he can’t keep. He idly wonders if this is what being Spider-man really means. The thought only makes him respect Peter more than he already does.
Sometimes, when the going gets tough, Miles has this childish thought. Something he lets himself indulge in when he’s pushed to his limit. It’s that Peter would swing in, shining spandex suit and optimistic bravery to save Miles from his fights, to protect him the same way he’s done countless times before. It’s a fantasy, Miles knows.
Logically, he knows that Peter is a phone call and a cross-Atlantic flight away and knows that the man would drop everything if Miles only asked, but he can’t do that to Peter. His mentor had entrusted him with looking after the city, even though it was on the assumption that Miles wouldn’t uncover a corporate conspiracy and would have to deal with a new criminal gang led by his middle-school best friend.
So, yeah, he can’t call Peter, can’t expect the man to save him and get him out of his messes.
No matter how much he wants to.
The hours spent taking down the Underground and facing Phin makes Miles feel things he can’t unpack because everything was happening so fast. One day, he was having Christmas dinner with Phin in his apartment and before he knew it, he was kidnapped by Rhino.
When he faced Phin in Roxxon, he knew that everything was ending that night.
And he was right. Everything was over faster than he thought. And he lost her faster than he had the chance to be grateful that Phin was back in his life.
The grief doesn’t come in immediately. No. It comes in waves when the doors are closed, when he’s covered in bandages and kept under watchful protection by his mom and Ganke. They make sure he doesn’t leave his bed until every bruise was gone.
He doesn’t know what could have happened if he didn’t have his family by his side.
He gets calls from Peter, but mom gets Ganke to confiscate his phone away because she knows Miles better than he knows himself. He knows that if he called Peter right now, he would ask the man to come back, beg him to assure him and to bestow wisdom on things he’s gone through before.
When he’s burned through the painkillers and he can finally walk without the slightest ache in every muscle group, it gets easier. He goes out as Spider-man again, excited to no longer be couped up in his room alone with his thoughts. Though, his short break was something he didn’t know he needed. He needed time to process, to feel grounded and normal again. There’s only so many games he can play with Ganke before even he gets restless.
Tired from a day of Spider-manning, he’s perched atop the Avengers tower, keeping an ear out for Ganke’s pings and the app’s notifications. When he’s sure things are cool, does he let himself listen to the voicemails Peter left.
There’s six voicemails in total.
“Miles? Hey, it’s Peter. Uh, I saw what happened with Rhino on the news, and that new guy, the Tinkerer. Listen, if you need me, I’m on the first plane home, alright?”
The next one is only two hours after.
“Miles! I heard from Ganke that you were kidnapped by Rhino. No wonder you weren’t on the news. Anyway, I need you to call me back, okay? I’m really worried, even though Ganke did tell me you got yourself out already which—by the way, congrats on your surviving your first kidnapping attempt but also I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there. I—uh, I don’t know what’s going on and to be honest, that kind of sucks. Please, please call me, okay?”
The third one is on the day that Miles fought Phin at Roxxon.
“It’s Peter. I’m watching the news right now, live from New York. They say you’re fighting the Tinkerer but I can’t—I can’t see you, Miles. It’s scaring me. Is this how MJ felt every time? God, now I get why she ended things. Makes sense. I know you won’t hear this until the whole fight is over, so I hope everything turns out oka—holy sh—oh my god, Miles!”
The voicemail ends there, as if Peter accidentally pressed the end call button because the next voicemail immediately starts with, “Miles—oh god, I really, really hope you’re okay because if my Symkarian is correct, which I really hope it isn’t, it’s saying that there’s a blast from Roxxon in Harlem, and that you’re right in the middle of it—oh god, you’re falling from the building and—is that the Tinkerer? Okay… now they’re saying the core is being absorbed by—oh… Miles, no, no, no—”
The message ends there. There’s another one from that same date, the night that Phin died.
There’s only soft breathing on the other end, and in the background there’s people speaking in Symkarian, presumably the news Peter’s watching. Peter’s voice is raspy, a little harried. “Uh… hey. This is Pete. Again. Listen—”
There’s a pause, then a long breath being taken in. His voice is shaky, “I, uh, I saw what you did. And what the Tinkerer did. I also saw you—god—”
Miles winces. He knows exactly what Peter is talking about. That fall made his joints ache for days.
Peter clears his throat, “They’re saying you’re fine. That you’re back to swinging around all fine and dandy but I, uh, I—I need to hear you, Miles. I just need to hear from you for a moment, okay, Miles? I doubt the suit’s systems are working so well after that fight so you probably won’t get this call anytime soon but please, as soon as you get a connection, please call me back, bud. I’m worried.”
Miles scrolls down. There are about seven missed calls, one for every day that Miles spent in his bed healing. There’s only one voicemail, though, sent only this morning. The last voicemail too. Miles takes a breath to clear his head, calm his thumping heart, before opening it up.
“Hey, Miles. It’s Peter. I just, uh, wanted to catch you up to speed on some stuff and check in.” It sounds forced, some of that cheeriness that Peter is well-known for isn’t something that can be faked easily, and it’s clear in his voice. Something in Miles tells him this voicemail is more for Peter’s benefit than his own.
Peter talks about his still-horrible Symkarian, about MJ and Sable and what he’s missing from New York, talks about everything but Miles himself and the elephant in the room.
“Anyways, I know Symkarian is hard, but phew. Years of taking Spanish in high school could not have prepared me for this,” Peter cracks a laugh, but it’s awkward, stilted. Miles grimaces, guilt pricking in his chest. He didn’t know that Peter worried this much over him, but then again, he should’ve known; it’s Peter, after all. The best man he’s ever known, next to his own father.
“Uh, so, I haven’t heard from you in a while.” There’s a sound of Peter fumbling with something, and he quickly says, “Ah, if you’re worried about whether I’m burning a hole through the ceiling, it’s fine. Ganke filled me in, told me your mom didn’t want you worrying about other things while you got better. Completely understandable, to-tally fine and cool.”
“I would have been more worried if you immediately went back to Spider-manning, so, small mercies, yeah?”
“I’m just glad to hear that you’re okay. Call me as soon as you can, Miles. I mean it. Bye.”
Miles doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t think about the fact he has no idea what to say if Peter does pick up, he presses on Peter’s contact. It goes straight to ringing and Miles pretty much loses all his nerve right then and there.
It rings three times before it clicks. There’s silence that’s then broken by a rustle of noise and then Peter’s voice, groggy, deep, right in Miles’ ears. “Pete Park’ speakin’. Who’s this?”
Miles belatedly realizes that it should be about three am right now in Symkaria. Six-hour difference from New York.
He clears his throat, starting softly so as to not alarm the man, a little bashful. “Uh, hey, Pete?”
“Miles?” Peter asks first, voice faint and sleepy, then, more alert, “Miles? Is that you? Wait, hold on—” There’s more rustling, a loud thump, a muffled sound of pain, a door opening and closing.
“Miles? Buddy?” Peter’s voice is much more awake now. So much for trying to not alarm him.
Miles clears his throat again, “Hey, Pete. Yeah, it’s Miles.”
There’s a shaky exhale on the other side, and Miles’ chest constricts.
“Oh, hey, hey, hi, hey there, Miles.” The relief is palpable.
Miles laughs, soft, “Hey, bro.”
“It’s really great to hear from you.” There’s a smile in Peter’s voice, and it’s one of those wide, beaming ones that make you look twice and wonder what was so amazing to make Peter smile like that. It’s a little dizzying to realize that it’s himself. “I’m ecstatic, you hear me, Miles? This is great.”
“I woke you up, didn’t I?” Miles says, voice low. Even though he does feel bad he woke Peter up, some part of him is relieved to hear from Peter too. “You should be getting back to bed, Pete, you must have had a long day—”
“Hey, hey, no, no, no, none of that. I wanna talk—let’s talk, okay? I want to hear from you. You’re not bothering me at all.” Peter takes in a breath, sounding more pleased than Miles would have expected him to. “Besides, it wasn’t a good sleep anyway.”
Miles doesn’t say anything, which is in itself strange because neither he nor Peter are the types to keep quiet, both of their heads running a mile a minute and mouths being infamously loose when uncomfortable. And this conversation is very uncomfortable. This whole thing is strange, and Miles can’t find the first thing in his head to say.
“Please don’t hang up,” Peter murmurs.
“I won’t,” Miles says quickly, disquieted by how downtrodden Peter sounds. It must be because Peter just woke up. It’s really weird to hear it from Peter, the person who always exudes cheerfulness, infectiously optimistic.
It’s a long stretch of silence that Miles feels the need to break, feeling restless from how Peter is reacting to everything. Miles swallows dryly and starts off quiet, “You good, man?”
“Yeah,” Peter huffs, humor interlaced with something Miles can’t identify, “I’m doing good. Better now.”
Miles’ lips twitch. “That’s good to hear. So, uh, how’s MJ and Sable treating you?”
“They’re…” Even from over the line, Miles can hear the click of his throat as Peter swallows, sounding as if he didn’t expect Miles to ask, “They’ve let me go for a while, to let me get my head on straight. They heard what happened.”
“Oh,” Miles says dimly, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”
“Uh, it kind of is, Pete.”
“No, it’s just… it’s fine. I don’t blame you. And neither do they.”
Miles picks at the wool of his scarf. It’s supposed to be soft, gentle in his hands, but the feel of it is slightly muted under his gloves. “Do you know everything? Did Ganke tell you everything that happened?”
“Uh—I know the Tinkerer almost got you killed after the explosion, they brought you, like, hundreds of feet into the air and dropped you like a rock. Ganke figured you’d fill me in when I came back.”
Miles screws his eyes shut, something building in his throat.
“No,” he mutters, and he opens his eyes to the night sky, having seen the night flash before his eyes once again, a painful memory he wonders if he’ll ever be able to shake off. He’s thought about telling Pete, thought about exposing a still-raw wound in his chest to his mentor, but every time it came up, he pushed it out of his head, opting to talk to the man once he gets back from Europe.
But Pete is here, he’s here, and Miles can’t imagine having to keep everything wrapped up so tightly in his chest, hidden away from the one person who truly understands.
“I knew the Tinkerer. She was my best friend. From middle school.”
There’s a pause, then a quiet, sullen, “Oh.”
“Yeah,” Miles’ says, voice trembling. “She was like my sister, spent every waking moment in school attached at the hip. We did science projects that gave my dad heart attacks, made memories and shared secrets we’d take to the grave.”
He chuckles, nostalgic and empty, “She was like Ganke.”
“She must have been a good friend to you.”
“She was the greatest.”
Peter is quiet, and Miles is eternally grateful for it because he doesn’t know if he would’ve continued if Peter talked. He’d probably do something awful like cry.
“Her brother. He died because of Roxxon.” Feeling emboldened, despite the painful pangs in his chest, he continues. “She wanted revenge, so she joined forces with the Underground, became their leader.
“Made them crazy weapons and tech, and in exchange, got their help in their numbers.” Miles frowns, knowing he’s stalling from telling the more difficult parts of the story.
“She didn’t know I was Spider-man until she was about to kill me.” Miles can see the fresh betrayal over her face, shock and hurt that were quickly replaced by indignant determination. “I wish I told her sooner, before I used to her to get to the Underground. She wouldn’t have gone down this path if—if I wasn’t selfish.”
There’s a soft sound over the line and Miles rushes in.
“Pete, please, don’t talk. If you talk, I don’t think I can make it through the whole thing,” Miles says quickly, hearing the catch in Peter’s breath. “I know what you’re going to say, and I’m not tryna hear it. Not now.”
Peter stays quiet, and Miles’ chest unwinds, just a tiny bit.
“Phin was… she didn’t stop. She wouldn’t, and I couldn’t stop her either, no matter how hard I tried. I didn’t—she just didn’t stop.”
There was a moment in the middle of chaos (—back when Miles was still trying to turn Phin’s mind around, even though a part of him already knew it was impossible—) when he realized he was afraid of Phin. Something about her driven, unrelenting temperament. How she pushed and pushed until things got in her way. It was so like Phin that it scared Miles. Because no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that Phin changed, there was no way to excuse the fact that Miles isn’t surprised by the limits she went to by the end of it. A part of him doesn’t blame her for turning into the harsh, violent Tinkerer.
“When we were at Roxxon, after I got kidnapped, she almost killed Rhino and I—” His head comes down to rest in his hand, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. His phone creaks, his fingers tightening around it. He takes in a shaky breath, the words on his tongue not feeling urgent enough to jump out and make themselves known.
He straightens up again, this time with his mask rolled over his nose, needing the spandex out of the way to breathe.
“That night at Roxxon, when everything ended, the Nuform reactor was supercharged, something that Phin didn’t know about. Her plan was to blow up Roxxon plaza, but she didn’t know. She would have blown Harlem to nothing if—if I didn’t—”
Miles’ hands spark for a brief moment, and he grimaces. “I’m sure Ganke told you I’m basically a human battery.”
“Yeah, he mentioned it once or twice,” Peter’s voice is low, almost indecipherable.
“I absorbed the Nuform reactor,” Miles says abruptly, and Peter goes silent once again. “Phin had already activated it with the destabilized Nuform she stole, and it was already on the way to destroying Harlem with everyone in it.”
Miles’ hands are shaking now, twitching as yellow strands of bioelectricity dances between his fingers and across his palms, lighting up his face, his voice quivering as the words spill out faster, “We fought, blew off half of Roxxon plaza in the process and she saw what the reactor was doing, something she didn’t plan for. And then she fell, and I jumped and—”
I’m sorry.
It’s okay.
“She didn’t mean it, Pete. She didn’t mean any of it, she said she was sorry—” Miles hiccups and only then does he realize his mask feels a little damp on his cheeks, New York’s skyline looking a little blurry.
“The reactor was getting worse with every second,” he continues regardless, taking his mask off completely, the sting of the cold air grounding him. “I had to stop it so I—I absorbed the Nuform reactor.”
This is the worst part, the part that makes every inch of Miles’ chest ache unrelentingly. “Phin knew I couldn’t keep of the energy in, so she took me up Roxxon, up into the air and she told me—”
A sob breaks free from his throat, “She told me to let go.”
Only then does he let himself crumble, the phone clattering to his side, one hand gripping at his chest, and he cries.
Everything hurts, even more than the worst injuries he got from that night. He misses her, so much, but he hates how many people she’s hurt, how many she killed because they got in her way.
He hasn’t let himself cry this much. He’s cried in front of Ganke, in front of mom right after everything, but not like this. He didn’t cry like every fiber of his being ached and the chasm of his chest felt like it was cracking from how much it wants to cave in.
The blinking of his phone reminds him he has an audience, and he taps the speaker phone button, not sure if he can handle hearing Peter’s voice right in his ears.
“I’m sorry, man,” Miles croaks, embarrassment and shame curling right in.
“Don’t be,” Peter says, soft and kind and stubbornly patient. He wonders if this is what Phin felt when dealing with him.
Peter breathes a sigh, worried and heavy, “I know this is going to sound really selfish of me right now, but I really wished you had called me to come back.”
I wish I did too.
“Everything turned out okay,” Miles manages feebly. And he’s right. Everyone was safe by the end of it, with Harlem intact, and Krieger behind bars—everything turned out the way it was supposed to. Yet, it still hurts.
“Still,” Peter mumbles, and it’s softer than anything Miles has ever heard from the man, “I wouldn’t have wanted you to go through it alone.”
“I know, man.” Miles looks down at his phone, seeing the grinning, bright-eyed contact photo of Peter staring back at him. He remembers the day he took that photo.
He snapped the photo when Peter wasn’t looking, the man having noticed they had candy cotton machines at the fair. He’d asked if Peter was free that day, to check out the annual Brooklyn Visions fundraising carnival and to be his plus-one since Ganke was manning one of the stations. He agreed without hesitation, and it is probably one of his favorite memories with Peter Parker himself—not as Spider-man, he’s got plenty more of those.
Peter Parker, Spider-man—they’re the same person. And it’s clear in everything he does. Miles knows he means what he says; he would have dropped everything to help Miles.
Something about that makes Miles’ chest ache.
“I’m glad that everything turned out okay, Miles,” Peter says. There’s something about the way that Peter says his name, affectionate and warm, his name slipping out with every other sentence like a familiar habit. It’s nice.
“I’m glad you talked to me.” Miles closes his eyes. This time, the horrid images don’t appear. Instead, it’s Peter’s kind hazel eyes, his clean, bright, beaming smile, the incredibly expressive looks and the always slightly furrowed brow—he’s always thinking, always in his head, despite the constant word-vomits.
“I’m glad too, Pete. It’s… nice to talk, it’s been a while.”
“Yeah. It’s great to hear from you too,” Peter huffs a laugh. His voice is warm, always so warm—remarkably inviting. It’s ridiculous how easily he put Miles at ease. And it works on pretty much everyone he talks to too. (As Peter Parker. He’s lost count how many times Spider-man has gotten a gun aimed at him for not keeping his mouth shut.)
He still remembers the last time he saw Peter. After the skirmish with Rhino. He didn’t get to see him off at JFK since he was busy with helping out at mom’s rally, and he didn’t even know that Peter was leaving the next day. But he remembers that moment, nonetheless, the moment of warmth and trust, faith in Miles as he placed the responsibility into his hands, letting Miles shoulder some of the weight he must have had on for eight years and counting.
He remembers how fast he blamed himself, how he was the one who caused Rhino to escape and wreak havoc. But he also remembers how much faster Peter was to reassure him, place a warm hand on his own trembling ones and say, And you delivered big time, you saved my bacon, Miles.
It was so easy to let the worst of the blame slide off his back. If Peter could see the good even with how everything turned out that night, then Miles should too.
He also remembers that gentle curl of familiarity, when Peter calls him by his name, even after he almost got Peter killed. That type of trust that’s given so freely but treasured by people who truly want it. It’s…
It’s—
“Miles?”
Oh.
Oh no.
Peter grinning, wide and unabashed. His voice, loud and proud, supportive of everything that Miles does right, gentle when he corrects Miles. His warm nature, addicting and so inviting. Capable hands, guiding and protecting. His mind, sharp and quick-witted, keeping Miles on his toes. His strength, used for good—and Pete is so good.
He’s Spider-man. He’s New York’s hero. He’s Miles’ mentor and his close friend. He’s one of the smartest people Miles knows, and one of the best too. He’s everything that Miles has ever wanted.
“Miles,” Peter says again, softer this time, and Miles’ heart—it’s racing, skipping, hard against his ribcage.
Oh no.
“Are you there?”
“Y-Yeah, I am. Here. I’m here, Pete,” Miles fumbles because this is not what he wants right now.
Why does this have to come at the worst time? Why does he have to deal another crisis right after one just ended? Why is being Spider-man so goddamn complicated? What the hell, man.
But then again, a part of him whispers, this isn’t about being Spider-man. This is about being Miles, himself, the kid from Brooklyn who’s fresh into superhero-hood, and about Peter—who great, kind, strong and a joy to be around. Being Spider-man has nothing and everything to do about this.
“Just kind of lost in my thoughts, s’all,” Miles says, voice fading.
This should not be on the agenda. The timing’s all wrong. Miles is just figuring out how to be Spider-man alone and that means that Peter will likely spend less time with him. Peter is all the way in Eastern Europe, and he’s just getting back together with MJ. They’re thousands of miles apart and Miles is crying and Peter is too nice and—and Miles can’t deal with this.
“Hey, Pete. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“Oh, uh, sure—of course,” Peter fumbles, tone a little tense, “yeah, you must be tired—”
“I can say the same thing about you,” Miles says, voice a little strangled, but he pushes forward, he doesn’t want to tip the man off. Peter can be incredibly perceptive when he wants to be.
“Go back to bed, bro, I’ll call you when I can, yeah? Everything’s good on my end so don’t worry,” Miles says a little too quickly, pressing the speaker phone button again and bringing the phone back to his ear, sliding his mask on. He scrambles to his feet, leaning just over the edge of the building, watching how the city lights reflect on the skyscraper.
“Hey, Miles—”
“I’ll call you tomorrow, don’t worry about me,” Miles is dimly aware that he’s repeated himself, but he can hardly think when his mind is now a whirlwind of Peter, Peter, Peter—
“You’ll keep me updated, right?” Peter asks, voice a little harried as if he’s afraid that Miles would hang up any moment.
I won’t.
“I will.”
Petr breathes a sigh, a smile in his voice, “Okay, thanks. Goodnight, Miles.”
“Night, Pete. Sleep well.”
He cuts the call, slips the phone into his pocket, and leaps off the building.